I get this “You are a very special person” response a lot in reference to my adoptions, homeschool, missions, whatever.
I’m Not Done Yet
This adoption has been a long journey for us with lots of unexpected turns. To be sure, other families have endured much longer, much worse. Different countries have programs that run upwards of 10 years. Other parents have lost savings accounts, friends, years, referrals, children. We’ve read stories that absolutely drained the blood from our faces.
So ours is certainly not the worst story; but, it is ours. And, it’s the only one we have to tell.
As I look back over the last year and a half, I see a rhythm between God, our leader, and us, His clueless followers. The tune changed as the story unfolded, but the rhythm stayed the same.
It started after God made it *crystal clear* that we were to adopt two children. We applied for two kids. We got approved for two kids. We planned for two kids. We prepared our bio children for two kids. We told everyone we were adopting two kids.
And then we got our referral. For one girl.
Our referral call. This is not how parents’ faces are supposed to look on this happy day.
Yes, this girl was beautiful. Yes, she was the perfect age for our family. Yes, we died over her shy smile (that was a clear fake out). Yes, her story broke our hearts and reminded us why we decided to adopt older children in the first place.
But where was our second child?? We were positive about this one. We couldn’t have missed God’s leadership on the two-kid agenda; it was one of those ridiculously clear moments where you either respond obediently or prepare to be immediately struck with cholera.
So this rhythm emerged:
“God, we’re confused.”
And he answered, “I’m not done yet.”
As we begged for clarity and tried to decide if we should reject this referral out of sheer blind obedience, God nudged us toward the same darling boy we’d been eyeing on the Waiting Children’s List, the one with the 1000-watt smile, on a waiting list for his crime of being 7 years-old.
God reminded us, “Yes I said two, but I never said they’d be related. Go fight for that boy.” Fight? Oh, I’ll fight alright. And, we got our boy.
This was Ben’s picture. Please note the Run DMC shirt. Destiny brought us together.
So three cheers! God really had a plan; an unconventional plan that required a half-crazed Mama who would enter the ring and use words and persuasion to win a referral. We had not one but two kids after all! And they happened to be the two cutest kids in the whole country, which we considered our prize for actually completing the 700,000 page dossier.
Fast forward to March 10th, that blessed court date. Now understand that I had already informed God that I didn’t want to be “one of those families.” The sad, sorry folks who didn’t pass and had all the troubles and waded through messy bureaucratic drivel and watched as everyone else passed them like they were going in reverse. The ones that clogged up the Facebook feed with bad news and had to answer the same questions twenty times a day about any movement? and who seemed like they had lost the will to live.
I mean, I thought I had made that clear.
So when Remy passed that very day like she was just taking a leisurely stroll through Central Park on holiday – exactly how I told God to work it out – we were devastated when Ben didn’t pass. Devastated. And the rhythm repeated:
“God, we’re confused.”
“I’m not done yet.”
We’d seen other families who didn’t pass court get their clearance within a week or two, so we naturally assumed our happy phone call was coming any day now. Remy was submitted for Embassy. Any day now. One month. Any day now. The court asked for additional documents on Ben. Any day now. Remy was cleared for travel in April. Any day now. We turned in some other official decrees. Any day now. Two months. Any day now. Three months. Please, God. Please. Any day now. “It doesn’t look good for this case.” Any day now. Crying, begging, pleading, cursing. Any day now. Four months. No. No.
“God, we’re confused.”
“I’m not done yet.”
Let me be fair: When I recount our line as “God, we’re confused,” that sounds tame, almost like a little old grandma who got lost at the corner of 5th and Lamar until a kindly police officer asked if he could help her and she chuckled and shook her head and said, “Well I guess I got a little confused!” and they shared a knowing laugh about who can figure out all these confounded streets down here? and he pointed her west and she made it to her destination just in time for the quilting guild.
When we said “we’re confused”, it involved crying and wailing and days when I couldn’t get out of bed. It included a string of months where, I swear to you, time stood still. I sobbed over other people’s happy adoption news as I typed nice words on their Facebook pages. It included a phone call from my mother-in-law after my daughter told her, “I’m worried about my mom.” My hair started falling out in clumps and my fingernails peeled off in layers. I lashed out at Brandon and my kids and Jesus on bad days; on worse days, I wondered aloud if God had any control at all over this chaotic, broken world. I doubted his invervention and questioned his sovereignty.
So yeah, that’s what I mean by “confused.”
And then we got this: “We’re getting a rejection letter for Beniam’s adoption, and we think you should consider coming to get Remy.” No. No. How could this possibly be our situation? How? We were the compassionate mother who refused to split the baby in half even if it meant separation from us. How could we go back to Ethiopia and fly away with just one of them? How could we break our son’s heart like that? How could God possibly be in this? Is he just mean? Has he forgotten us? Has he forgotten Ben? This is not the story we signed on for. This chapter stinks. I’m starting to hate this book.
“God, we’re confused.”
“I’m not done yet.”
In the dead of night as I sobbed into my pillow, begging God to comfort our son as we prepared to travel for Remy, he delivered “Love Ben” fully developed into my mind. And if you’re the believing type who buys the “God works all things for good for those who love him and are called according to his purpose” stuff, then you might not be surprised to hear that we witnessed hundreds of moments of glory through Love Ben.
Hundreds.
Like the 80-year-old outspoken racist who set his alarm for 1:00am to pray for Beniam at the start of the Ethiopian work day.
Like the multiple emails I got from adopted adults who were prompted to reconcile with birth parents, deal with decades-old wounds, and find peace.
Like the birth mother whose heart God healed after giving up her son 17 years ago.
Like the entire church who highlighted Ben’s story and set up a Love Ben Photo Booth after both services.
Like the college friend who told me she was praying again for the first time in 20 years.
Like the bundles of you who emailed to say you’ve decided to adopt.
Like the mamas and daddies who taught their children about orphans and God’s mercy and used Ben’s little face as a tangible tool.
Please believe me, these could go on and on. Rays of God’s light kept bursting through the dark. Just when I though my heart would expire, I’d get an email that said, “I told Ben’s story at the camp we’re running for foster kids, and they broke out in spontaneous prayer and singing for God to rescue him.”
Evidently God can wrestle glory out of the hard parts of the story.
Ben passed court the week before we traveled to get Remy, but our agency prepared us for egregious delays and possible litigation at the Embassy stage because of his rejection letter (I assure you, this had nothing to do with his orphan status). So, Brandon and I prepared for a fight.
Then we flew to Ethiopia. And held our son while he threw up and sobbed in our laps and clung to our necks, as we drove away with Remy, his only family on the same continent. And all the bravado disappeared into sorrow. I cried for 24 hours without stopping.
“We’re so confused, God.”
“I’m not done yet.”
Are you sure, God? Because I’m pretty convinced all our hearts are broken. Is there work left to be done? Is there something we can’t see? Would you please just assure us that you haven’t forgotten Ben and our family? Can we trust you to make this beautiful? Because it doesn’t feel beautiful. It feels aching and devastating and horribly unjust. We believe you but we can’t see.
But let it be said that God is still in the miracle business. As our agency prepared to submit Ben for Embassy, they were asked to try to secure his approval letter one last time, attempting to avoid the cluster ahead of us without it. Just as a courtesy, our agency went back to the government office, the same one who refused to write the letter for five months, in an effort I dubbed “the biggest waste of time on planet earth.” They’d made their position clear on Ben’s case, and had already died on this hill if you will.
They wrote it.
They wrote it on a Thursday, and Ben was submitted for Embassy the very next day. With all his paperwork intact. Every last piece of paper. They cleared him for travel 4 business days later on Thursday, and Brandon got on a plane 3 days later.
This is what God does.
When God said He wasn’t done yet, He just wasn’t done yet. He wasn’t speaking in code. It wasn’t a trick. The story was still in the middle, but I wanted to flip ahead to the end, past the conflict and struggle and straight to the happy ending. As Keeper of the Story, God knew the whole plot. He promised us way back that He planned on seeing these two children all they way from brokenness and abandonment to our home in Texas, an unlikely journey if ever there was one. And at the risk of whitewashing the difficult middle, we now have them here. He was faithful.
God doesn’t promise us a clean middle part of the story. He never said we wouldn’t encounter antagonists and drama and surprise twists and heartbreak. We weren’t assured a G-rated plot where good feelings are peddled and no one dies or leaves or fails or waits. God promised things like healing and restoration and redemption. Which implies there will be injuries and broken relationships and losses. When He speaks of beauty from ashes, He seems to know there will be actual ashes to resurrect beauty from.
If you are confused right now, if your story isn’t going the way you thought, or if you’re tangled up in the messy middle where hope is deferred, dear reader, it could just be that God isn’t done yet. Your story is not finished. Every hero and heroine must wade through the conflict to get to the end, and you can trust God because he is good. If you have nothing else to cling to, remember this: God is good. He loves goodness and justice. He heals and redeems. He is on the side of love and beauty. He is for you. He is never against you. You may be against you, other people may be against you, but God is not against you.
It is okay to be confused; I’m afraid that is our lot as finite creatures dealing with an infinite God. Some of God’s best heros were confused in their subplots. But I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on. Because God is good and he is for goodness.
And He just isn’t done yet.
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Jen Hatmaker has partnered with her husband Brandon in full-time ministry for 15 years, and they pastor Austin New Church in Texas. After a nauseating stint as an entitled, bored Christian, Jen and her family joined the battle for those on the margins. They pioneered Restore Austin, connecting churches to local and global non-profits for the individual, collective, and social renewal of Austin. Jen is a popular speaker at retreats, conferences, and seminars all around the country. She is the author of nine books and Bible studies, including Interrupted: An Adventure in Relearning the Essentials of Faith
Bag of Grace
It was May 6th, just over two weeks after we had found out that our dreams of adoption had been nothing but a delusion. We had been deceived. Defrauded. We had spent thousands of dollars to bring two sweet babies home.
Only those babies had never existed.
The
Foundations
I vividly remember being overwhelmed at the strange reality of parenting children I didn
I Was Minding My Own Business
Well, technically I wasn’t or I wouldn’t have been reading this blog about another person’s life.
However…
I was minding my own business,
strolling through Google reader,
perfectly happy with my life of four little girls,
glad that I had survived thus far in the whole adoption experience,
so satisfied that all of us were alive and thriving,
and I still possessed some sense of my sanity…
and then I saw this picture on a blog I follow…
and I knew.
I knew alot of things in that moment.
I knew that adopting Lily is one of the most wonderful life experiences I have ever had,
(It’s right up there with salvation, meeting, and marrying my Leading Man, giving birth, but different and unique from all of those and one that has changed all of us collectively, as a family.)
that I would be robbing all of us to not take this adoption journey again,
that the issue is really not, “why would we do this again,” but “why not?”
I knew that I WANT another child because I truly love being a mother. And having a child grow in my heart instead of my womb has truly been one of the most powerful things that has ever happened to me.
I knew that this hasn’t been an inconvenience to my family but has only made us stronger, fulfilled us,
and the life of these children is too precious a thing to waste because of my own selfish comforts.
I just want to read this book, can I just take a bath without interruptions, I DO NOT WANT TO DRIVE A VAN!!!
All the arguments, they are really so futile.
I have truly believed I was done until this moment.
I thought I had done what God had wanted me to and now I was finished.
But, this picture has completely revealed to me that we need to adopt again…
heck, that as CRAZY as this sounds to myself,
and literally at this moment I am shocking myself
I WANT to do this again. I believe there is another child out there for us.
And not only that, I am POSITIVE I think we should adopt an older child some where between Girl #2 and Girl #3.
I guess this is the point that I tell the Leading Man…
but wait…
that is going to make it REALLY official!
Am I seriously considering this????
Help me Lord!
This sounds completely ridiculous, but these are my stupid arguments at this moment:
- I kind of like this even number thing…
- We just got a new car, and we will be filling our last open seat. Won’t it be too stuffy? We can’t get another car, we just got one…and I am NOT driving a van!
- I still feel that I am making so many mistakes with Lily why would I subject yet another life to the torture we know as, Anna???
- That would mean more years I go without being able to read a book, travel with just my husband, take a quiet bath…
- Isn’t it too soon? Won’t I be robbing Lily?
- People are going to think we are crazy.
- Wait a sec, am I doing this for blog love or because I am addicted to the exciting experience???
- I don’t want to go back to China…maybe we can go get a child from Africa…that would be good, huh???
God: Shhhhhhhh!
Good Grief
We could not believe that we had been so deceived.
After months of preparation for adoption, first through foster care, and then from a birth mother who had approached us at church, we were within days of our twins being born. Only there were no twins. There were no babies at all. The birth mother was not even pregnant. We had been robbed, deceived, heartbroken.
Grief. The dark hole of the soul that seems to have no limits to its depth. My plans, my dreams, my joys, were ripped out from under me and my heart tumbled in a free fall into the murky pit of grief.
I mourned the children that never were. Though they had names, they had never existed. How do you grieve someone who never existed?
I grieved motherhood. For years, I had prayed that God would make me a mother, and I had believed that I was at last realizing that dream, only to have that dream snatched away.
I mourned my plans. My plans were to spend the first half of the summer devoted to being home. Though I knew the crazy schedules and sleeplessness would be exhausting, those disruptions were desired and loved. Now, I would have to take on a tremendous load of work
When Love Isn’t There
I was laying in bed this morning thinking about attachment. I am almost positive that our little ones are going to have a hard time attaching to us. What dawned on me, however, is that I may not love them right off the bat. Loving them may not come naturally like it did with Lily. I pondered this and turned to the Bible to see what God’s word says about love.
Of course, the first place to look is 1 Corinthians 13.
Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.
After reading through that list, I realized that there is no mention of feelings. Love is NOT a feeling; it is what we do.
Let all that you do be done in love.
1 Corinthians 16:14
Love is an action, not a feeling.
This is My commandment, that you love one another, just as I have loved you.
John 15:12
Love is a command. God doesn’t ask us to feel love. He commands us to love.
I will not hold on to the hope that the feelings of love will come. My hope is in Christ. Through Him I need to purpose to love my children. Christ is not looking for me to just want feelings of love, He wants me to act in love. All I need to do is follow the list in 1 Corinthians 13. That IS love! When I am patient, kind, and not seeking for myself, then I AM loving my children.
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Liz Grabowski is a daughter of Christ, wife to Jon and mother to five. Two of their children are born to them and three are adopted from Henan, China. Liz and her husband are currently in China adopting a 4-year-old boy and a 2-year-old girl. Their trip has been filled with challenges and joy. Click here to read about their journey so far and what is to come.
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If you haven’t already, go enter the WAGI birthday giveaway at this post.
One Year Later – We Are Grafted In
On August 11, 2010, I “clicked” and published the very first post on We Are Grafted In. I hoped that the site and forum would become a place where preadoptive and adoptive families would gather. I wanted, I needed that sort of place, a place where families could be honest and encourage in truth, a safe place for families to come and support one another in the adventure of adoption.
1 year, 140 contributors, and 230 posts later, I think it’s become that type of place–not because of any skill of mine or anything special I have done–and continues to grow and be used as God desires. I’m so thankful for that and that these posts–from people who are way better communicators than I am–have blessed so many.
As a reminder of those early days and what led to the name We Are Grafted In in the first place, I’m reposting that very first post with the only edits made to some formatting and my bio since it is a year later. No edits are needed on the text of the post–these truths remain.
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I
In Love With Adoption
Had one of those sweet conversations with my boys last night. The kind that make you all warm and fuzzy about being a parent. It was bed time and I was impatiently telling them to turn off the light, stop talking, get under the covers, no more drinks, when Keaton asked me a question. Now, he very well could have been stalling; it worked.
He said, “Mom which one of us kids do you like the best. I know you love us all, but which one do you like?” I very much wanted to say I like you all the exact same now go to sleep so I could run into my own bed and start reading my book or flip on the TV. But, I decided to take a deep breath and explore what he was really asking me. So, I told the boys that I have so many things I like about each of them, but I would share one thing about each of them tonight. And, we began. And, in case I don’t tell them enough I will put them here in cyber-print…
Keaton, one thing I love about you is that you were my first child. You taught me how to love like a Mommy.
Kayden, one thing I love about you is that I see so much of your father in you and it reminds me why I love him so much.
Laney, one thing I love about you is you were my first daughter and have been so fun, girly, and full of life.
And, Macy…
Keaton interrupted me and said, “I know what it is you love about Macy, Mom. You love that she is adopted. Right?”
My instinct was to jump on that and say I would love Macy if she wasn’t adopted, and I don’t love her differently than you because she is adopted, and you are no less special to me because you aren’t adopted, and ask them do you love Macy any differently than your other siblings? and so on…But again, I was still and listened.
He went on, “because you are in love with adoption, Mom, and you have been ever since we brought Macy home.” Kayden jumped in and said, “because we are all adopted Mom if we choose to love God.”
And, there it was. They said these things with such admiration and clarity that I was humbled. I hadn’t signed them up for an Adoption 101 class, hadn’t made them read a book about it or write a paper, or even made them sit down and talk to me. God was revealing Himself to my boys through me. Through my love for adoption. I was about as giddy as a mommy can be.
And the truth is I am in love with adoption. Sure, I love what it brought to our family in Macy. Sure I go crazy about orphans and figuring out what I can do to help God set them in families. But more than that, I love what adoption has taught me about God. I don’t know anyone else’s story, just my own, so I can only speak for myself. My adoption story isn’t about becoming a mommy to Macy. That was a miracle and a gift, but my adoption story is that God used this time in my life to draw me to Himself. My adoption story included a loss of one of those gifts. A death. And that makes it all the more life changing for me. Because in Gaby’s death, Macy’s twin sister, not the concept of it, but her literal physical death, those last 20 minutes with her on this earth, I experienced the physical presence of God in a way that I have never before in life. I felt the eternal. And, I am forever changed.
This year, I have moved from being a lifelong Christian who God blessed through normal life. I was all high and mighty about my faith and that it could never be rocked no matter what. When in all reality, He had never let anything come into my life to test that. Now, I am someone who saw and experienced pain and hurt that I believe God could have prevented and stopped but chose not to. And, I am okay. I love Him. I believe in Him. I trust Him. And, I still believe that He couldn’t take or do anything that would change my faith in Him. The ONLY way that I can say those things is through His strength and power.
Praise the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! Through Christ, God has blessed us with every spiritual blessing that heaven has to offer. Before the creation of the world, he chose us through Christ to be holy and perfect in his presence. Because of his love he had already decided to adopt us through Jesus Christ. He freely chose to do this so that the kindness he had given us in his dear Son would be praised and given glory. Ephesians 1:3-6
Macy, one thing I love about you is that you were my first glimpse into the miracle of adoption.
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Shelley has been married to her best friend, Gabe, for 11 years. They have 5 children–3 the old-fashioned way: Keaton (9), Kayden (6), and Laney (4). Their family adopted twin girls, Macy (1) and Gaby in 2010. After fighting for 7 months with Hypoplastic Right Heart Syndrome, Gaby is now in heaven with Jesus. Shelley is a preschool director of a Christian school part-time and Gabe works for a Christian insurance company providing insurance for Missions trips. Their family enjoys the adventure God has them on and is always looking to follow Him and give Him glory in all things. Check out their family blog.
Part 3 of 3: I Refuse
Through this season of prayer and seeking God through His Word, Scott and I had become convinced that indeed God was leading us to begin the process to adopt a little girl from China with “special needs.” It was all so different than the process we went through to adopt Beniam from Ethiopia. This time, we were looking at photos of waiting children and asking God to show us which one we should adopt. It felt so strange to make this choice and often we felt paralyzed and unsure of where to go from here.
We spent hours looking and reading and praying. Sometimes I wondered if we were taking too long. But now, I can look back and see what God was doing in that time. Every child we looked at I wondered, “Could this be our child?” So with every child, my heart was opened to see them as a son or daughter, not just a picture or a statistic of yet another orphan who I could not help. With each passing week, I became more willing to say “Whatever, Lord. Whatever you want. I just want to love one of these precious children.” And following this season of searching, my heart has broken more and more for children waiting for a family. Their faces are etched in my mind, and I am totally confident that God will use these things that have happened in my heart for further use down the road.
Then one day, I think we were just ready. And, we saw this picture of Mei and Scott said, “That’s her.” We did not know much about her at all, and her special need was one we had not considered before. That night we put her file on hold in order to have it reviewed by an international pediatrician who could tell us more. When I was getting ready to go to sleep that night, I began to think more about little Mei’s “special need,” and I thought maybe this wasn’t something I was comfortable with after all. I just let my mind focus on her medical records and lost sight of some other things. My heart was heavy, and I was worn out. I sighed and rolled over to turn on the alarm for tomorrow. As I did this, I whispered out loud a quick prayer, “What do you think, Lord? Please speak to me.” (Thinking that I was checking out for the night, and the prayer could maybe be answered tomorrow) I pushed the button to check the volume on the radio, and these were the exact words I heard:
He cries in the corner where nobody sees
He